Gap Creek (27 page)

I lowered the lamp to look at the water and seen pieces of kindling floating around under the table. And there was cans and bottles floating, and a cardboard box with some pinecones. Even as I looked I could see the water rising, washing in little tides across my feet. I turned to run back to the living room where Hank stood by the fireplace, leaning against the mantel.

“There’s water already in the kitchen,” I said.

“It’ll put out the fire in a minute,” he hollered.

Sure enough, water seeping under the front door had spread across the living room to the hearth. When it rose another inch it would be in the fireplace and the fire would go out in smoke and steam. I tried to think of some way to protect the fire, to build a wall around the hearth. There wasn’t no way.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Hank said.

“We can’t go out in a flood in the dark,” I said. “We’d get drowneded.”

“We can’t just stay here,” Hank hollered. I didn’t like the look in his eye and the shrillness that had come into his voice.

“Only a fish could get through a flood in this dark,” I said. “You said so yourself.”

“We’ve got to make a run for it,” Hank said. The tone of his voice scared me as much as what he said.

“We can’t go up the valley to the mountain,” I said. I wished more than anything that we had gone home for Christmas. I wished I was on top of the mountains with Mama and my sisters.

“Do you want to drown here?” Hank shouted, like I was responsible for the flood. He sloshed through the water in the kitchen and grabbed his mackinaw coat off the peg, and he lit the barn lantern. “Get your coat,” he said.

“Where are you going?” I said.

“We’ve got to get out of this house,” Hank shouted. I seen there was no use to argue with him.

“What can we take?” I said.

“We can’t take nothing if we have to swim,” Hank yelled. I’d never seen him so scared. The water was getting deeper by the second in the kitchen, and his words echoed off the walls in an odd way.

I tried to think what was most valuable in the house. We didn’t have any money left but a few cents in my purse. There was a few
pots and pans I had brung with me, and the comb and brush set Rosie had give me when we got married.

Hank swung the lantern like he was going to bash it on the wall, but stopped hisself. “You don’t want to burn down the house,” I said.

“What difference would it make?” he said. He started stomping in the water so the splashes flung out like wings. I grabbed my coat off the peg. I hated to get the bottom of the coat wet, but there was no way not to.

Hank acted like he was beside hisself. He stomped into the bedroom and got Mr. Pendergast’s shotgun, which was about the only thing Caroline Glascock had left. He broke down the barrel and put a shell inside, and he put another shell in his coat pocket.

“What are you doing?” I said, shivering in the icy water up to my knees.

“Let’s get out of here,” Hank said. Holding the lantern and shotgun in one hand, he grabbed my arm with the other and pulled me through the kitchen to the back door. When he opened the door more water swirled into the room. In the lantern light the flood looked an evil brown, dark and smelly. It was water that had poured through outhouses and barns, graveyards and trash gullies.

The wind hit my face like somebody had slapped me with a cold wet hand. The air was whipping sheets of rain. Suddenly the air turned to shining blue powder, and I seen it was lightning. And I could see clear across the yard to the barn and pasture. There was nothing but water curving and swerving in a rush as far as you could see. Then it was dark again.

“Where are we going?” I yelled.

“To higher ground,” Hank shouted. “Or hell.” He pulled me into the current and it felt like a sow or horse had rolled against my legs. The water hit so hard it bruised me and wrapped around my knees and thighs and pulled at my coat.

“I can’t stand up,” I hollered.

“Got to hurry!” Hank yelled into the rain. He held the gun and lantern high and jerked me along with his left hand. Every time I lifted a foot it nearly got swept away from under me. We lurched and wrestled our way across the river toward the barn. The closest high ground I could think of was in the pasture, up where the salt lick was. But that was beyond the barn and across the pasture. I didn’t see how we could get that far in the awful waves. In the dark I couldn’t even tell if we was past the woodpile or chicken coop. It was black and the rain and current made you feel crazy. The glow from the lantern was weak as a lightning bug.

“Lord help us,” I hollered. Something hit my side like a floating board or body. The rain smothered me.

But we kept going, from one foothold to another, and I think we might have made it to the barn, or even to the pasture fence, except that Hank stumbled. I don’t know what happened exactly, but it was like he stepped into a ditch or sinkhole, or the flood jerked his feet out from under him. I don’t think he meant to let go my hand. But down he went, and his hand was wrenched away from mine, and I was on my own in the middle of the raging water.

“Hank!” I screamed, and seen the lantern go bobbing away until it went out. And then everything was black as tar around me, with wind and rain in my face and water slurping and pawing at my legs and between my legs. I didn’t know what direction to go in. I couldn’t remember where the barn was, and where the house was.

“Hank!” I yelled again. But the wind hit me in the face and covered up my voice. I tried to listen, but heard nothing but wind. I took a step and the water got deeper. Was Hank under the water? Had he been swept down the valley? At the speed the water was moving he could already be a long way off. Should I try to look for him? I couldn’t hardly stand up myself. I couldn’t think what to do because I couldn’t swim, and I didn’t even know in what direction to move.

I don’t know what I would have done, standing deep in that wild, stinking water, twisting myself against the current, except just then it come another flash of lightning that blinded me, and through my squinted eyes I seen the barn ahead. For a second the barn wall glared like it was lit, and then it was gone. Quick, before I lost the direction, I pushed myself toward the barn. Took all my strength to reach one foot, and then the other, through the tide, bracing myself and leaning against the current. If I fell down in that flood I was a goner.

As I worked my way step by short steps toward the barn I wondered if I should go back to look for Hank. Was he out there somewhere clinging to a fence post or tree? Was he deep in the mud of the creek? But I would be lucky to save myself and the baby inside me. It wouldn’t do nobody any good if I got carried off in the flood.

When I finally reached the barn I put my hands flat against the wall and felt my way along to the door. The cow bawled inside and something banged like the horse lunging in panic. The barn felt like it was trembling in the grip of the flood. I eased my way along to the hallway door, and soon as I got into the passageway the current wasn’t so fierce. The water was swirling through the stalls and it smelled like manure and rotten leaves.

“Hank!” I hollered, and held on to the slats of the cow stall. I could try to find the ladder to the hay loft and climb up there out of the water. But I couldn’t just climb up to the dry hay and leave Hank out in the flood. If only I could see. If only I had some rope or a long pole I could help him.

“Hank!” I yelled again. The cow bawled inside her stall and something banged against the barn like a log or floating outhouse. I didn’t want to go back out in the flood, for I had to think of the baby. It was my job to save the baby. But I felt bad about leaving Hank in the raging water.

I worked my way along the wall hung with harness, plowlines, and hames and horse collars until I reached the ladder. As I put my hand on the step of the ladder to pull myself up out of the water I felt a wet shoe. At first I didn’t know what it was, and then I thought, has somebody left a boot out here? And then I wondered if a stranger was hiding in the dark barn. Was it somebody like Timmy Gosnell?

“Who’s there?” I said. There was no answer. I pulled my hand away from the wet boot. “Is that you, Hank?” I said.

Suddenly there was a flash of lightning from outside, and in the glow from the doorway reflected from the water I looked up and seen it was Hank above me. He was holding the shotgun, and he was trembling and had a terrible look on his face.

“I thought you was drowneded,” I said.

“You almost pulled me under,” he said.

“You let go of me,” I said.

“I couldn’t help you,” Hank said. He sounded like a little boy that was scared.

“I thought you was drowneded,” I said.

“I’m going to shoot myself,” he said. It was dark and I couldn’t see his face, but it was like I could see his face in his voice.

“Don’t talk crazy,” I said.

“I didn’t go to leave you,” Hank shouted.

“I know you didn’t,” I said. I was glad I couldn’t see his face.

There was a flash of light, and at first I thought the shotgun had gone off. But it was just another lightning.

“I ain’t no good for nobody!” Hank hollered.

“It’s not your fault,” I said. I was afraid of what he might do with the gun in the dark. I didn’t know what else to say. I had never seen Hank in such a state, or anybody else for that matter. There wasn’t anything I could think of to say.

“You go on back home,” Hank hollered. “I have ruint your life.”

“You ain’t ruined nothing, yet,” I said. “This is all the flood.”

Tears was mixed with rain in the corners of my eyes and down my cheeks. Lightning flashed again and I seen the water outside the door like wrinkled satin pulled away. Hank had had his moods, but he’d never done anything this crazy before.

“I ought to kill us both,” Hank shouted.

“No!” I screamed. “You’ll feel better tomorrow. The Lord will help us, if we pray,” I said, my teeth chattering. I was jerking I was so scared and cold. The horse whinnied and rammed against the side of its stall.

I expected Hank to answer, but he didn’t.

“The Lord loves everybody,” I said. I was saying whatever come into my head. I couldn’t think of what to say.

“The Lord has kicked my ass,” Hank said.

“Don’t talk like that,” I said. I expected the lightning to hit the barn and burn us up. Instead thunder boomed on the roof like it was a drum. The pressure hurt my ears. I put my hand on Hank’s dripping pants leg. “Come on down,” I said.

There was a blast of fire and a deafening roar and I heard a crash and tinkle on the barn roof. Heavy drops sprinkled around me. It took me a second to understand that Hank had fired the shotgun straight up at the roof.

“Please, Lord, help us,” I said. “Help Hank to calm down, and show us what to do.”

It come to me what Ma Richards would say to Hank. I heard her say it in my mind. “You think you’re so important the Lord would make a special flood just for you?” I said. “This flood is happening to everybody.”

Hank didn’t answer. I could smell the burned gunpowder.

“There ain’t nothing special about your troubles,” I said. It was
hard words, but they was the truth. I was so scared there was nothing to say but the truth.

“Don’t make no difference what I do,” Hank said.

“You’re just feeling sorry for yourself,” I said.

“I should kill us both and have done with it,” Hank said. The cow bawled and thunder slammed the roof of the barn again.

“You won’t do it,” I said. “You’re just showing out.” It was a chance I had to take, to shame him back to his senses. I had to do something to get him calmed down.

The gun fired again, and it sounded like sand was ricocheting around inside the hayloft. I hoped that was the last shell Hank had.

“Think of the baby,” I said.

“I can’t think of nothing,” Hank said.

“Let’s go back to the house,” I said. “We’re going to freeze to death out here.”

“We’ll get drowneded,” Hank said.

“I think the water’s going down,” I said. It did seem the water in the hallway of the barn was not as deep as it had been.

“Might as well get washed away,” Hank said.

“Do you want the baby to die?” I said. “Do you want the baby to freeze to death?”

“This ain’t no world for a baby,” Hank said.

Anger boiled up in me. All the confusion and scaredness in me started turning to anger now that Hank was a little calmer. “Get down from there and act like a man,” I said, and pulled at his leg.

“Wait till the water goes down,” Hank said. “Be foolish to go back now.”

I seen he was right. I was so cold and angry I was jerking, and I couldn’t stop. I had to get out of the freezing water. “Let’s climb up in the hay and get warm,” I said.

My feet trembled on the rungs as I pulled myself up the ladder
in the dark. Even when there was a flicker of lightning you couldn’t see much up there except the cracks between boards. I took Hank’s hand and we felt our way to the pile of hay and crawled into it. I covered us up with straw and leaned against Hank and tried to stop shaking. The hay smelled like must and old apples. I hadn’t been inside a hay pile since I was a girl.

The flood roared outside and the horse whinnied and banged the stall below us. But I didn’t hear the cow anymore. She hadn’t bawled since Hank fired the shotgun the last time.

“You don’t need to blame yourself,” I said, and pushed up against Hank and held his waist.

Hank didn’t say nothing. I guess he was wore out by all that had happened. He put his arms around me and we laid there in the scratchy straw. I quit shaking finally, and I must have drifted off to sleep, for I thought somebody was calling to me. They was calling from a cellar, or down in a holler. And then I found it was the horse neighing.

I jerked up and listened. The floodwaters wasn’t so loud around the barn as before. Hank had dozed off too and I shook him.

“Listen,” I said.

“What?” he said and twisted hisself around.

“The water is quieter,” I said.

“I can still hear it,” Hank said.

“We’ve got to get back to the house and put on dry things,” I said. “We’re liable to catch pneumony.”